by Patti Larsen
Standoffs weren’t my forte, but damn it, I was a Fleming and my parents didn’t raise a pushover. When Julian was the first to look away—albeit to answer his smartphone that rang with an annoying pop tune I couldn’t stand—I turned and met Carter’s eyes, fully expecting more judgment.
And instead found thinly veiled amusement and trembling lips that clearly hid a smile. Victory? At least the entire encounter with Mr. Manajerk had cooled my jets enough I could focus and function around the deliciousness that was Carter Melnick.
“Very well.” Julian’s last two words were clear enough, as was his tone. He hung up and glared at me, but I could see he wasn’t going to fight me, at least for now. “Ms. Pink is my responsibility,” he said. “And I take that job seriously, Miss Denning.”
“Fleming,” I said.
“Whatever.” He slipped his phone into his inside breast pocket. “That being said, we are grateful,” that word from between clenched teeth like he’d been instructed against his will to say it, “for your hospitality and I assure you,” now a threat, “we won’t take up your precious little bed and breakfast’s accommodation any longer than we absolutely have to.”
Sand strewn. Line drawn.
“Then I guess I’ll just have to do my best not to cry my eyes out when your ass walks out my front door.” So there.
Julian glared, I glared and, finally, he sniffed, turned and left. Because no man stood against Fiona Fleming. Or he had somewhere to be. Either way, good riddance.
“He’s a troll,” Carter said. I turned to find him grinning openly now. “I have no idea why Ms. Pink keeps him around. But she’s a softy and he’s been with her a long time.” He chuckled. “Nice job, by the way. He knows he’s stuck and you took the perfect tone. He won’t give you any trouble.”
“Yeah, I was actually serious,” I said. “I’ll kick you all out.” Well, not him. As the saying went, crackers in bed would never be a deal breaker in Carter’s case.
His eyes widened, eyebrows shooting up toward his dark hair. “Even better,” he said. “Wow, where have you been all my life?”
Waiting right here for him to come and sweep me off my feet, of course. Silly, silly man.
Our conversation had so much further to go, should have ended with something much more satisfying than an exchange of grins. But the sound of Olivia calling my name from the foyer and the bustle of the arrival of what had to be the main event killed the mood.
I turned for the door only to find Carter beat me to it, slipping around me to hold it open with that smile of his about as shmexy as anything I’d ever seen and softening my temper enough at least I might make it through the next ten minutes without murdering someone.
Maybe. No promises.
***
Chapter Six
Olivia wasn’t alone in the foyer, Julian hovering beside a tall, wafer thin woman in giant sunglasses. I knew who she was, of course, would have guessed she thought herself important regardless of her actual identity. What, in a bad mood all over again despite the hotness following on my heels?
Forgive me my natural redheaded inclination to temper.
Before Olivia could say a word, her beaming smile splitting her painted lips wide, the slender brunette with the tidy ponytail and elegant, if understated, jeans and flowing blouse slipped her glasses free and extended one long-fingered hand toward me, a real smile on her stunning face. Willow Pink was even more beautiful in person, though in a fragile and delicate way that softened my rougher edges as her huge, luminous blue eyes met mine with the kind of genuine authenticity that she was famous for.
“Thank you so much for letting us invade your lovely bed and breakfast, Miss Fleming.” She sounded just like she did in the movies, soft but with a level firmness to her tone, practiced and polished. “You’re a lifesaver.”
I shook her hand, the thin bones feeling odd in my stronger grasp. I knew she was thin—it seemed to be the norm for Hollywood despite advances to the contrary—but I had no idea the old adage that the camera added ten pounds wasn’t kidding. She looked like if she sneezed she’d tear apart like tissue paper in a breeze. “Sorry to hear they’re having trouble at the lodge.” I didn’t mean that as a backward anything but winced inwardly as I realized what it sounded like. And after she’d been gracious.
Willow didn’t seem to take it the wrong way, though. Instead, she shrugged her thin shoulders under the tidy wool wrap she wore, eyes twinkling in good humor. “I’m just happy to be home,” she said, and she actually sounded like she really meant it. “Staying here at Petunia’s feels more like Reading than the lodge anyway, so it’s made my trip if I’m going to be honest.” She turned and laid one hand on Olivia’s arm. “No offense meant at all to the beautiful resort Reading can be proud of. But both Skip and I grew up here as you’re well aware. And even though my parents moved to L.A. to be near me, I still feel like I belong here in the heart of town, down at the end of Jasmine Street, two blocks over.”
“Absolutely,” Olivia gushed. There was no other way to describe the enthusiasm she put into that one word.
Before she could say anything else, Willow returned her attention to me. Only then did I realize how quiet it had become in the foyer, like everyone fell utterly silent when she spoke. Not out of need, her volume was fine. I had to admit her natural charisma held me a bit in thrall, too, almost demanding attention as much as she gave it, and naturally, without affectation or command. No wonder she was famous. She could probably talk herself into any role she wanted with pipes like that.
“It’s a shame we never met before,” she said as if we’d have run in the same circles or something given the opportunity. “I was three years behind you in school. And I left when you were still in college, I think?”
Three years didn’t seem that big a gap like it did when I was a senior. “How’s L.A. treating a down home Reading girl?”
Willow chuckled, deeper than I expected. “It’ll do for now,” she said. Inhaled and exhaled with gusto as she looked around Petunia’s foyer before spotting my pug and squeaking out a delighted noise, crouching to pat her with great kindness.
Okay, grumpies gone. That joy in her greeting sold me on Willow completely.
“Petunia,” she said. Looked up at me. “The Third?” Wistful, sad, without much hope she was right and this was the pug she remembered.
“The Fourth,” I said, a bit sorrowful myself when I thought about it. “You knew Grandmother Iris?”
“Did I.” Willow kissed the top of Petunia’s head, still melancholy but smiling a little. “She and my mother were friends of a sort. Played bridge on Saturday nights, usually here, but sometimes at my house. And Iris would always bring Petunia. I suppose, though, the pug I loved was this darling’s predecessor.” Willow stood, hugged herself like she was cold suddenly. “I’ve been gone a long time.”
“It’s easier than you think to come home,” I said with a wry smile. “Almost too easy.”
Willow laughed then, the mask of sorrow cracking and falling away. As if on impulse, she hugged me abruptly, the scent of lavender and some kind of soft spice carried on her clothes and in her hair. I embraced her back and, when she let me go, the faint blush on her cheeks registered she might have second guessed her choice.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I’m not normally a hugger. But Iris’s granddaughter is an automatic friend of mine.”
Clearly from the nervous look in her eyes, the open honesty, she didn’t have many real friends. And that feeling I had when she’d acknowledged Petunia? Yeah, it got stronger the longer we talked. I found my temper fading, my grin easy and open as I nodded. Willow Pink might have been a huge movie star, but she was a person first, a Reading girl like me, coming home to a place that meant something to her. Imagine that.
“Willow.” Her slimy manager had to go and ruin it, didn’t he? Julian’s vague smile made my skin crawl. “We really should get you settled.”
“Of course. Maybe we can have tea later, Fiona
? If you have time?” Willow half turned from me, smiling again as she looked up the stairs. “I have wonderful memories of exploring the rooms in Petunia’s. And of your darling grandmother.”
“I’d like that,” I said. “I can bring it to you when you’re ready.”
“Thank you.” She paused, frowned slightly, head tilting toward the front door. Only then did I hear it, the booming voice approaching like a rolling clap of thunder, the thudding footsteps the measured tread of doom. The giant laugh that made me tense. Not that loud people usually got to me. But because Willow’s whole body seemed to shrivel, her expression settling into a tight mask that looked nothing like the young woman I’d just come to like and respect. “Forgive him,” she said to me then as the door banged open with enough force to rattle the windows and a giant figure in jeans and a sport coat strode into my foyer like he owned the world.
***
Chapter Seven
Skip Anderson loomed larger than life, no surprise there, the massive football player towering over all of us with his dark brown crewcut and fashionable five o’clock shadow, deep brown eyes scanning the interior before locking on his wife. Willow smiled at her husband though she didn’t speak. Not that she didn’t want to, maybe, but he never gave her the chance.
“This the joint?” So much for Olivia’s nostalgia quote for the masses. Sounded like Skip never heard of Petunia’s. And while Willow’s dulcet tones soothed and enraptured, his rough and hearty words instantly grated. He tossed a large, leather duffle bag at Julian who caught it with a giant scowl before dropping it to the carpet with a disgusted look on his face. “Deal with my bag, Jeeves.”
The manager’s face tightened, Willow’s hand rising ever so slightly to silence him while Skip leered at me.
“It’ll do, I guess,” he winked as if that was endearing. “God, this whole town has really gone downhill since we left, Wills. Why are we here again?”
Olivia’s smile of greeting had frosted over at the corners but she wasn’t going to let his attitude ruin anything. “Welcome home, Skip,” she said. “We’re so happy you’re here after all the kind things you’ve said about Reading and all your help in ensuring our town prospers.”
Weird, hadn’t Jill said Olivia and Crew had gone to the airport to pick them up?
“Of course you are,” he boomed. “But I’m only here for Wills.” He looked around, clearly unimpressed. “No gym? No pool? Where’s the bar?” Again his eyes settled on me. “You work here? Go get me a beer like a good girl.”
Charming. But I’d handled puffed up arrogance more than enough in my life in New York and someone as overblown as Skip? Not my problem.
“Get your own beer,” I said with a smile. “Corner store is a half a block. I’m sure you remember. If not, well. Can’t miss it.”
Olivia gasped at me, Willow’s lips twitching. Even Julian looked shocked. And, for a second, I held still waiting to see what Skip’s reaction to sass would be. Some guys like him? Temper, temper. Blew their crap all over the place. Others, yeah.
Skip fell into the “others” category.
Instead of going dark red in the face and exploding his arrogance all over the foyer like a spoiled little kid, he guffawed. A real, honest to god, I kid you not guffaw with knee slapping and snorting and a bit of hehaw in there for good measure. Willow winked slowly at me while her husband recovered.
“I like her!” He exhaled gustily. “Not much else about this craphole town to like, I seem to recall. But I do like her.” He took one stride across the carpet on his big cowboy boots before hooking a massive arm around my shoulders and tucking me against his side. Where Carter’s scent had a lusciousness to it I could lap up like a kitten with fresh milk, Skip’s cologne almost suffocated me, the rigid power of his muscles like being tossed against a boulder. “Wills, can we keep her?”
Willow sighed softly, indulgently, but the apology in her eyes was aimed at me. “Let’s get our rooms sorted out, Skip,” she said. “We’re running out of time if we want to stay on schedule.”
Why wasn’t I surprised she was the responsible one? Skip released me so suddenly I staggered a little. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m a pretty solid girl, 5’7” and athletic, thanks. But I’d never been hugged by a mountain before. The experience left me breathless and shaken. I couldn’t imagine facing off against him on the field. Or how delicate Willow survived his attention.
“That’s right,” Olivia said, interjecting quickly before Skip could argue, his big face, nose broken sometime in the past at least once, darkening at last as his heavy brows pulled together. “We’ve lost a lot of time thanks to the accommodation issues.”
“I make my own time,” Skip grumbled, but he didn’t seem like he was going to fight too hard. The mercurial switch in mood made me a bit nervous and I’m not ashamed to say when Willow held out her hand to encourage him to leave with her, I was happy to see him go.
“An hour, Olivia?” Willow waved to me while Daisy trotted down the stairs, beaming eagerly. The starlet followed my best friend as she retreated again, her grumbling and now irritated looking husband following behind her like some kind of unhappy watch dog.
The second they were out of sight I exhaled, only then realizing I’d held my breath since Skip’s temper switch. Petunia whimpered softly and stared up at me as if she’d sensed his volatility too. Just confirming what I already decided.
Willow Pink? Awesome. Skip Anderson? Psycho in the making.
“You have a plan for the media, I take it?” Julian glared at Olivia while three people I hadn’t even noticed waited by the front door for the mayor to answer. Skip’s entry had utterly blocked their appearance, or I’d been so distracted by his overwhelming presence I’d somehow missed their arrival. But it was clear from the way they waited for Olivia to speak they were here with either Skip or Willow.
“We’re taking care of that,” Carter spoke up. I jumped a little, remembering he was still behind me. “I’m coordinating with the local police.”
Julian grunted something that didn’t sound supportive. “I’ll be in my room,” he said to no one in particular before sweeping up the staircase, leaving Skip’s bag on the floor.
A tall, burly man well past his fifties with the look of an aging athlete to him crossed to the bag and hefted it in his hand. He smiled and nodded to me before holding out one hand.
“You probably don’t remember me, Fiona,” he said. “Matt Almeda.” I shook with him, firm grasp meeting firm grasp. “Skip’s coach.”
Weird how he brought his coach with him…? “Wait, you were the football coach at the high school when I was there, weren’t you?”
Matt shrugged, looking up the stairs. “Skip took me with him when he went to the pros.” Ah, so that was a thing? “I’ll check in on them. Thanks for taking us in like this. Not surprised with a mom like yours to raise you right.” He’d have worked for my mother when she was principal at Reading High. “And your grandmother was a great lady. Nice to see Petunia’s still here and running.”
At least he maintained his common courtesy after leaving Reading. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Well, I need something.” The woman with the gray pixie cut scowled at me. In fact, she’d been scowling pretty much the whole time she stood at my front door with her arms crossed over her chest. “My equipment.” She gestured at the sitting room, now empty. “Where is it? I can’t direct this stupid commercial without my equipment.” Wow, she didn’t have to match me for crab. Daisy would have her hands full with this one.
“I’ll show you, Ms. Prichard,” Carter said, nodding to me. “We set you up in one of the rooms.”
She didn’t bother to shake my hand, whoever she was. Not that I offered either. Pretty telling, the personalities Willow and Skip surrounded themselves with. And yet, an odd mix so far.
The final member of their little posse was on the phone, one of those headset things that sat in her ear and looked like it belonged in a science ficti
on movie. Her beige suit and white blouse made her overly bleached hair look yellow, but who was I to judge her? Except when her crisp, amber eyes met mine, the deep lines of stress and time in the business showing on her sallow complexion like she’d been forged in the fires of Hollywood and came out stronger for it.
“I still haven’t seen a script, Stella. I’m not approving anything for Skip until I see a script.” She didn’t sound angry or upset or irritated. More bored, actually, distracted.
The gray haired woman sighed with so much drama I almost laughed. “It’s an ad for a crappy town in Vermont,” Stella said. “What kind of script are you hoping for, Evelyn?” She spun on the suited woman while Olivia’s olive skin turned a dark shade of crimson. But the two women faced off as if they had no idea—or care—we were there. “Your precious footballer might think he’s the important one here, but I can tell you Willow will feature. All he has to do is smile. That won’t strain his dumb jock brain too much, you think?”
Evelyn’s craggy face tightened. When she spoke, her lips puckered, deep lines forming around them, sign of a life-long smoker. “You might think you’re someone in Hollywood, Stella Prichard. But you’re directing a commercial for that same crappy Vermont town, not a feature, in case you missed it. My how far the mighty have fallen.”
“I’m directing,” Stella snarled, taking a step closer to Evelyn until they were toe-to-toe right in front of me, two massive egos butting heads, “as a favor for Willow.”